The Card, a Story of Adventure in the Five Towns eBook

Then, perceiving a massive open door of oak (the club-house
had once been a pretty stately mansion), he passed
through it, and saw a bar (with bottles) and a number
of small tables and wicker chairs, and on one of the
tables an example of the Staffordshire Signal
displaying in vast letters the fearful question:—­“Is
your skin troublesome?” Denry’s skin was
troublesome; it crept. He crossed the hall and
went into another room which was placarded “Silence.”
And silence was. And on a table with copies of
The Potter’s World, The British Australasian,
The Iron Trades Review, and the Golfers’
Annual, was a second copy of the Signal,
again demanding of Denry in vast letters whether his
skin was troublesome. Evidently the reading-room.

He ascended the stairs and discovered a deserted billiard-room
with two tables. Though he had never played at
billiards, he seized a cue, but when he touched them
the balls gave such a resounding click in the hush
of the chamber that he put the cue away instantly.
He noticed another door, curiously opened it, and
started back at the sight of a small room, and eight
middle-aged men, mostly hatted, playing cards in two
groups. They had the air of conspirators, but
they were merely some of the finest solo-whist players
in Bursley. (This was before bridge had quitted Pall
Mall.) Among them was Mr Duncalf. Denry shut the
door quickly. He felt like a wanderer in an enchanted
castle who had suddenly come across something that
ought not to be come across. He returned to earth,
and in the hall met a man in shirt-sleeves—­the
Secretary and Steward, a nice, homely man, who said,
in the accents of ancient friendship, though he had
never spoken to Denry before: “Is it Mr
Machin? Glad to see you, Mr Machin! Come
and have a drink with me, will you? Give it a
name.” Saying which, the Secretary and Steward
went behind the bar, and Denry imbibed a little whisky
and much information.

“Anyhow, I’ve been!” he said
to himself, going home.

VI

The next night he made another visit to the club,
about ten o’clock. The reading-room, that
haunt of learning, was as empty as ever; but the bar
was full of men, smoke, and glasses. It was so
full that Denry’s arrival was scarcely observed.
However, the Secretary and Steward observed him, and
soon he was chatting with a group at the bar, presided
over by the Secretary and Steward’s shirt-sleeves.
He glanced around, and was satisfied. It was
a scene of dashing gaiety and worldliness that did
not belie the club’s reputation. Some of
the most important men in Bursley were there.
Charles Fearns, the solicitor, who practised at Hanbridge,
was arguing vivaciously in a corner. Fearns lived
at Bleakridge and belonged to the Bleakridge Club,
and his presence at Hillport (two miles from Bleakridge)
was a dramatic tribute to the prestige of Hillport’s
Club.